A Ghost-Free Box (Poetry)

I had imagined something tall and grander
with graceful lines — not dull and kind of squat
so claustrophobic in its plain proportions
an architectural show place it was not.

They’d lived there — all four brothers with their parents
Victorians who posed as middle class
respectable (though skeletons were many)
they stared out stern from dusty photographs.

Cramped rooms not large enough to hold their scandal
for tragedy should surely need more space
I listened hard for echoes in that hallway
but nothing stirred — the silence held no trace.

This ghost-free box a sorry disappointment
no message to the living from the dead
except the knowledge none had stayed to haunt it
but one by one they’d spied their chance and fled.

No spirits roamed the house to rattle windows
open doors or waft a chilling air
no moan among the rafters creaking solemn
no whisper on the narrow darkened stair.

Such emptiness felt infinitely sadder
once the last visitor had viewed and gone
the melancholy crowded even closer
the missing ghosts all long-ago moved on.